


Three Days in Hannover

by roosterbox



Category: Shame (2011), Wanted (2008), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Charles, Charles is a Tease, Crossover Pairings, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Rimming, Those relationship tags will make sense soon, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roosterbox/pseuds/roosterbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just supposed to be a three-day job in Hannover.  But, after meeting a handsome stranger on a train, Charles is determined to make the most of it.</p><p>*ON TEMPORARY HIATUS*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna attempt something different with this one. Please bear with me - I need the challenge.

_Prague. Oslo.  Venice._

Each city looked the same these days.

_Milan. Edinburg.  Chicago._

To think that Charles had one been thrilled – thrilled for god’s sake – to be leaving Westchester. Now he would’ve given up almost anything to see it again.

 _Sacramento. Christchurch.  Kyoto_.

Anything, that is, but the job. The job was a necessary evil.

_Seoul. Istanbul.  Seattle._

The job was the whole reason he had taken this flight in the first place. A landing in Berlin, then by train to Hannover.  Technically the job didn’t need to be done until three days from now, but Charles always had a terrible habit of being early.  His excuse was that it gave him time to “absorb the local colour.”  His employer would reply that it also gave him “ample time to be seen and identified.”  But Charles wasn’t worried.  Five years he’d been at this and not once had such a thing happened.

Approximately twenty minutes of flight time left. Time for a quick piss break.  Charles unbuckled his seatbelt, rose, and stepped into the aisle.  He nearly collided with a man going the opposite way.

“Sorry, sorry,” the man said. English, but with a decidedly German inflection _. On his way back home no doubt,_ Charles thought.

“No problem,” he said dismissively and continued his course. He ducked into the bathroom, missing the man’s lingering gaze.

\------

After arriving at the airport in Berlin, it was the work of but a moment for Charles to flag down a cab to the bus depot. He managed to finagle himself a ticket (no small thanks to his baby blue eyes and not to his halting, awkward attempts at speaking German), and within moments was on his merry way to Hannover.  It was going to be a fairly long trip, but Charles came prepared.  He’d only just managed to fish his MP3 player out of his pocket before a familiar voice asked, “Is that seat taken?”

The window seat beside Charles was open. For some reason, Charles had always preferred the aisle seat.  Quicker getaway if needed, perhaps.  But the newcomer was indicating the chair across from Charles.  Facing him.

“Be my guest,” he answered.

“Cheers,” the stranger said, squeezing his way through and settling down. “Sorry again, by the way.  For earlier.  I should really watch where I’m going.”

“Sorry for…?” Charles was puzzled for a moment. _Oh, right. On the plane.  But wait; is this really the same guy?_

He looked, actually looked, at the man for the first time. And instantly regretted it.  Good God he was gorgeous.  Gray-blue eyes.  Chiseled facial structure.  A body toned by the gods themselves, which was completely obvious even under the layers he wore.  Charles looked away, slight color rising in his cheeks.  He hoped the other man hadn’t noticed.

“You on your way to Hannover as well?” his new companion asked. Small talk.  Not one of Charles’ favorite things.  But for a creature such as this…

“Yes. Strictly business, I’m afraid.”

The man’s lips curved into a small smile. “That makes two of us.  Brandon Sullivan.”  He extended a hand.

Charles hesitated. But decided to throw caution to the wind just this once.

“Wesley Gibson.” He shook Brandon’s hand.  The alias came naturally and instantly – he may have been taking a risk by trading names with a stranger, but he wasn’t **stupid** enough to give him his real name.

“Pleasure,” Brandon said, still smiling that small smile. “Did you come by way of London?”

“Paris, actually.” Despite himself, Charles found himself eager for the conversation.  For more time with this man.  But he would have to be careful.  Already he was being more honest than usual.  He inwardly blamed those gray eyes, which seemed to almost change color the more he looked at them.

“New York for me,” Brandon said. He shrugged out of his coat and placed it neatly in the chair beside him. _One less layer covering that undoubtedly perfect body._ Charles’ mouth watered a tad at the thought.  “Ever been?”

“I grew up there.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow. “Your accent suggests otherwise, my friend.”  Charles shrugged, deliberately ignoring the fact that Brandon wasted no time declaring him a friend. _A bit too trusting, this one,_ he mused, filing that away in his memory banks.

“I split my time between Westch-New York City and London,” He hoped to God Brandon hadn’t caught his near slip up. _Brilliant, Xavier. First hot guy you meet and you’re already telling him your life story.  Why not just hand him your driver’s license and get it over with?_   “University.  My stepfather’s idea.”

“Must have cost a pretty penny or three.” Charles shrugged again.

“I never really thought about it.”

“Young people with money rarely do,” Brandon replied. Charles did not miss the way his eyes narrowed subtly. _I can see this going very badly very quickly_ , he thought. _Time for a change of subject._

“So, what sort of work brings you to Hannover?” he asked.

“Checking up on an investment,” Brandon replied, the tension easing out of his voice. “Damn German banks.  I love my home country, don’t get me wrong, but next time I decide to do any sort of business with her, please shoot me.”

Charles laughed, but felt no real mirth. His thoughts flitted uncomfortably to the luggage car, where his case sat.  Innocently.  No one had ever looked twice at it.

“How about you?” Brandon was looking at him expectantly.

Charles thought fast and came up with “I’m consulting with a local University. They needed a helping hand in their Genetics department.”  It was only partially a fib – he had studied Genetics at Uni.  In theory he might even still be considered a Professor.  But those days had long passed.

“Genetics, huh?” Brandon seemed impressed. “Got quite a brain behind those gorgeous eyes, don’t you?”

 _Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush._ “I guess so, but it’s not something I spend time thinking about, to be honest.”  A lie.  He knew he was attractive.  His looks had gotten him out of numerous bad and/or dangerous situations in the past.  But he thought playing the demure ingénue was a better option this time around.  Feigning self-deprecation might get his foot in the door for other, more…interesting eventualities.

To that end, he fixed Brandon with his best shy smile. It had the desired effect – the other man awkwardly cleared his throat and looked away.

“Have you got a place to stay in the city?” Brandon asked. He was sweating a little, small dots of perspiration standing out on his forehead. _Still got it_ , Charles thought smugly.

“Not as of yet.”

“Well, if you end up needing a place,” Brandon began, “I’ve got a reservation at the Arcadia.”

“Trying to get me in bed already, are you?” Charles queried good-naturedly.

“Sie haben keine Ahnung, meine liebling,*” Brandon mumbled under his breath. Hoping Charles wouldn’t hear, of course.  Lucky for him, Charles’ grasp of German was…less than ideal.  “Room 214.  If you need a place to stay,” he raised his head to meet Charles’ gaze.

Charles couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. It turned out to be infectious; Brandon answered with one of his own, showing his teeth for the first time.  It was quite a sight.  Almost…animalistic.  If Charles had been a lesser sort of man, he might’ve been intimidated by it.  But as it was, that smile just sent more of the blood in Charles’ body cascading downward.  To more interesting areas.  He smiled wider.

Oh but he was going to **_enjoy_** his three days in Hannover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh, what could happen next? Stay tuned.
> 
> * - "You have no idea, my darling"


	2. Interlude #1 - Charles and Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief flashback, wherein Charles gets his new assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short flashback chapter this time. And I'm doing this one a bit differently. This chapter (and at least one other flashback chapter I have planned) are going to be Dialogue-Only.
> 
> If this style doesn't work for you don't worry; if I play my cards right, the story should still work even if you want to skip these parts. It's not essential, but it does add a bit more color.
> 
> I'm about 80% done with the next chapter, and it'll be in the usual style.

“Back so soon?”

“Five days, just like I told you.”

“Any problems?”

"No. The package was delivered without incident.”

“And the locals?”

“...accommodating, as always.”

“That cock of yours is gonna get you in trouble some day. Even worse than LA.”

“I thought I asked you never to bring that up.”

“Must've had my fingers crossed.”

“Do you have another assignment for me, or are you just dredging up terrible memories for fun today?”

“Don't get your panties in a bunch, kid. I got one for you. But this one's clever. Maybe even moreso than you are.”

“I highly doubt that, _Jimmy_.”

" **Now** who's dredging up painful memories, _Charlie_?”

"...just hand over the file.”

“You could always dish it out but not take it, even when I first met you.”

“.......are you joking? His parents sold secrets to the nazis and his initials are S.S.?”

“That's what they told me.”

“Jesus. And the parents are dead?”

“Unfortunately, they were long gone before you were even born, bub.”

“ _Damn_.”

“It's too bad you weren't born about 60 years ago, Chuck. I think it'd make quite a site seeing you as a full-blown nazi hunter.”

“What a pair we make. Both of us born in the wrong decade, my friend.”

“Speak for yourself, bub.”

“Ugh, do you really have to smoke so much? I'm liable to die of secondhand smoke before my time!”

“Keep whining, kid. See how little I care. Anyway, your case is in your room, as usual.”

"Perfect.”

"I'd recommend the telescoping sight. Like I said, this guy's smart - it wouldn't do to interact with him up close if you can help it.”

“When does the flight leave?”

“36 hours from now.”

“Good. Now, do you mind? I need air.”

“Whatever, kid.”

“I'll see you in about four days, Logan.”

“Wait, Charles. One last thing. I wouldn't be surprised if, as intelligent as Mr. 'S' is, he already knows what we're planning, and sends his own guy after you. Just be careful, alright?”


	3. Day One - Charles - Set Up and Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles situates himself in Hannover, observes his mark, and decides whether or not to take Brandon up on his offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not incredibly thrilled with this part, but it's still necessary. A stepping stone to get to the next chapter, which may or may not contain smut.
> 
> The buildings mentioned are actual places in Hannover, but I've taken liberties with their locations and descriptions, so they might not ring completely true.

The rest of the train ride passed in a comfortable silence.  Charles put on his headphones and listened to a little music, while Brandon ostensibly watched the scenery.  More than once, though, Charles caught Brandon looking at him instead.  He tried to act as if he hadn’t noticed, but secretly preened under the attention.  If this…thing was going where he thought it might – where he hoped it might – it would be fun, but it would undoubtedly complicate things.  Relationships often did, in Charles’ experience.  Case in point: the ‘Incident Which Must Not Be Mentioned’ in LA, where Charles still refused to even set foot.

Charles had a lover in almost every stop in the last year.  Nothing serious, though.  A few nights spent screwing each other into oblivion.  And he would like nothing more than to add Brandon to his ever-expanding list.  At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself.

\--------

At last, Hannover.  The train ground slowly to a halt, while the rich baritone of the conductor rang out over the PA system.  Brandon must have seen the confusion on Charles’ face.  “He says ‘Welcome to Hannover,’” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, but that’s not all he said.”  Charles gave him a pointed look.  “What else?”

Brandon shrugged. “Just typical stuff: ‘please wait until the train has stopped,’ ‘have your claim check ready,’ and so on.”

Charles eyed him suspiciously, but accepted his explanation.

“You know,” Brandon began as Charles gathered his smaller bags, “I don’t know how long you expect to last in Germany not knowing a bit of the language…”  The shorter man rolled his eyes.

“I do happen to know a little.”

“Hmm.  And what’s that?  ‘Hello?’  ‘Goodbye?’  ‘Can you direct me to a five-star hotel?’”  Brandon rose out of his seat leisurely, moving closer.  “We both know what a fish out of water you are here, Wesley.”

Charles felt his cheeks flush, and not just from embarrassment.  Brandon was right, of course, but his close proximity wasn’t helping any.  But wait…

“We both know?  How do you know anything?  I’ve only just met you!”

Brandon smiled enigmatically.  “That’s for me to know, liebling.”

“But-”

A man bumped into Charles, who had been inching too far into the aisle.  It knocked his mp3 player out of his hand.  The small device would easily be caught underfoot and crushed.  Charles bent down, grabbing for it, missing the shadow passing behind him.  Luckily it hadn’t gone far.  He snatched it up into his hand just as a heavy-looking (and sounding) boot came down in the spot it’d left.

He turned back, triumphant grin already sliding into place, only to find he was alone.  Somehow Brandon had slipped past him unnoticed.  _Probably just as well_ , Charles thought, though he couldn’t help the wave of disappointment that washed over him for a moment.

With his bags secured, and his music player tucked safely in his pocket again, Charles made his way into the crowd.  He headed for the baggage car.  His case sat in the corner, where it seemed not a single soul had touched it since it had been placed there.  No muss, no fuss.  But he would definitely check it and make sure it was in working order once he was ensconced in a decent hotel room.  No sense taking any more chances than he already had.

With that thought, he stepped off the train, into a new city.  Hannover.  It was almost worth it.  Every new city, at least at first, was a breath of fresh air for him.  New landmarks to learn about, different cultures to absorb, and new people to meet (for a given value of ‘meet’, anyway).

He tucked his hand into his jacket pocket, looking for the notes his employer had given him.  It had, among many other useful things, the names of a few choice hotels in the area.  It was a good starting point at least.

He’d just decided on the Fora Hotel – ‘cheap, but stylish’ his boss had written – when a shadow appeared over the paper.  Charles jerked back defensively.

“Jesus, you scared me!” Charles exclaimed.

Brandon said nothing.  Just looked at him.  There was…something just beneath his gaze.  Charles couldn’t quite tell what it was.  Some unidentifiable emotion.

“Brandon, what-”

Brandon’s hands suddenly cupped his face and without warning there were warm lips on his own.  _Well_ , Charles thought, _not entirely unexpected_.  He hesitated for only the briefest of moments before enthusiastically returning the kiss.

The rush of blood to his head, and other areas, felt like fire.  Charles had always fancied himself a damn good kisser, but here, with Brandon, he realized he’d had no idea what a kiss was.  Their mouths opened and slotted together perfectly, tongues tangling in a futile battle for dominance; both were too stubborn to give an inch.  To Charles, it almost felt like he was a teenager again, making out furiously with his boyfriend on his stepfather’s sofa (not that he had ever done that, mind you.  Kurt would’ve had kittens).  There was a pounding in his ears.  My heart, he thought.  Need to take a breath.  I-

Brandon pulled away, parting their lips with a moist smack; both their faces were flushed, lips red and swollen.  Dimly Charles could hear the sound of applause to his left, but he willfully ignored it, keeping his attention on the man in front of him.  Who’d just quite thoroughly snogged the breath right out of him.

“Wh-” he started to speak.  Brandon put a finger over his mouth, shaking his head gently.  He leaned his head forward.

“Arcadia.  214,” he whispered into the shell of Charles’ ear.  “I’ll be waiting for you, liebling.”

With those parting words he turned and was lost amongst the crowd.  Charles almost gave chase, but stopped himself.  _One kiss, Xavier.  It was only one kiss.  No need to overdo things._

After giving himself a quick once-over – adjusting his slightly mussed hair and shirt – he went to try and find a cab.  According to his notes, the Fora Hotel wasn’t too far, but he didn’t want to risk getting lost.  Not with his case in hand.

Ah, a taxi.  Perhaps his luck was changing.  The driver barked something at him in German, sounding so terribly different than Brandon had.

“Uh…Fora Hotel?” He requested.

“Ja, ja, bekommen,” the man replied, climbing into the driver’s seat.

The ride was short, but it gave Charles a little time to think.  Normally his thoughts would’ve been preoccupied with the job and his mark, but after his…eventful time in Germany up to this point, he only had one thing on his mind.  Or, rather, one person.

_That word he used just then…I heard him say it before.  On the train.  What does it mean?_

Thank God for cellphones.  He took his out and, with a few swipes and pecks, found an online translator.  Liebling.  His eyes widened slightly at the meaning _.  Darling.  He called me darling.  Three times.  And he seemed to know more about me than he let on.  Who WAS this guy?_

\--------

His hotel room was perfect.  Sparse, but not completely bare.  Nice, but not overly fancy.  Enough for three days’ comfort.  With the business he was in, Charles had never needed anything too extravagant.  After a quick sweep of the place (one could never be too careful, Charles acknowledged), he set to work.

His parcel was undamaged.  All the bits and pieces of it fit together perfectly, exactly as they should.  It was almost as old as he was, a bit of a ‘family heirloom’ one might say, but it was still a quite serviceable little rifle.  There were also two smaller pistols as well.  For closer encounters.  But he hadn’t needed those in a very long time.  And he hoped to never have to use them again.  It was one thing to use the rifle, to snipe from afar, but it was quite another to see death by your own hands up close.

There was also the telescoping gun sight his employer had suggested he use.  And as much as Charles enjoyed teasing him, when Logan was right he was right.  He packed the sight away in a shoulder bag.  Not bulky enough to arouse suspicion.  He also tucked a small photograph of his mark in his inside jacket pocket.  For recognition’s sake.  But Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen that man somewhere before.  Someone he’d met on a previous job, perhaps _?  Maybe, maybe not.  Either way, it might mean trouble if he remembers me._

Making sure his pistols were tucked away into his case, out of sight of any cleaning personnel who might decide to ignore the “do not disturb” sign on the door, he left the Fora and made his way to the Hannover Re building.  Where he would be doing most of his observing of his mark.

\--------

Observation usually made up about sixty percent of his time spent on jobs.  Only maybe one percent encompassed the actual “job” itself.  The remaining thirty-nine percent more often than not consisted of seeing the sites and “meeting” new people.

Reconnaissance.  Logan always insisted on it.  It bored Charles, but he agreed to some extent.  Learning his target’s routine had always ended up being more effective than the alternative methods.  Which is how he found himself about 200 yards away from the Hannover Re building a short distance away from the city center.  Cover was minimal here, and the telescoping sight was too obvious, so he used a more old-fashioned approach.  The binoculars were old, but reliable; he always tried to ensure their effectiveness before committing to a project.  _Never know when you may need them_ , he reasoned.  To the people milling about, he looked like an average, albeit highly observant, tourist.  There was a group of a few girls who passed by him twice, giggling and staring at him.  He toyed with the idea of flashing them a smile and a wink, but that might’ve encouraged them to approach him.  And that would’ve meant attention that he did **not** want.

His target, Mr. S as he had taken to calling him, was in his office.  On the computer, on the phone, talking to his secretary (a gorgeous blonde woman in a low-cut blouse and jacket) – boring.  A normal, run-of-the-mill business man.  Why in the hell was Charles even here?  He was beginning to get the distinct impression that this was all some sort of elaborate prank on Logan’s part, and that his boss had forged Mr. S’s familiar connection with National Socialism just to get Charles interested.  He had seemed diabolical on the page; this man, as he saw him now, was relatively harmless. _I have to figure out a way to get inside_ , Charles thought.

\--------

The sun had started to sink low in the sky when Charles decided to call it a day.  He had a few ideas brainstormed about how to get an ear inside the place, without compromising himself, but it would have to wait until daybreak tomorrow.  For now…

He made his way to the busy street corner, holding out his hand in the universal sign of “Taxi!”  One slowed down close by.

“Where to?” the driver asked, his English heavily accented, but a most welcome change.

“Arcadia Hotel, please.”  Charles fixed the cabbie with his friendliest smile.  The man grinned back.

“No problem.”

It was another short ride, and the driver maintained a polite silence, but Charles was more than a little excitable.  After all, Brandon _had_ offered him a place to stay.  And even if he couldn’t actually ‘stay’, there were at least other, more enjoyable things they could do.  The kiss alone had been proof of that.

The Arcadia Hotel was massive.  Opulent, obvious even from the outside.  _Speaks to an expensive taste_ , he mused.  Once inside, he strolled to the front desk, where a lovely, sharp-dressed brunette girl smiled perfunctorily at him, ‘Elsie’ sewn in cursive on the front of her uniform jacket.

“Good evening,” he began, praying that he wasn’t being incredibly presumptuous by speaking English.  “I’m meeting a friend here, a Mr. Sullivan?”

“Room number?”

He had to think for a moment.  “214.”

“Name?”

“Wesley Gibson.”

“Oh yes!” the girl’s smile widened.  He felt his lips curl up in reply.  “Mr. Sullivan said you might stop by.  Just sign in-” she pulled over the massive book, “-and head on up.”

He signed the fake name with a quick flourish, nearly forgetting himself in his excitement and writing down his own name.

“Second floor,” she said helpfully.

“Thank you!” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator.  He could hear Elsie chatting animatedly to her friend behind the counter; both girls giggled quietly.  No doubt they knew exactly what he was doing there, or would be doing shortly, if he played his cards right.

\--------

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of room 214.  And, just like that, old doubts returned.  What if Brandon had changed his mind?  What if Charles had gotten the wrong idea about what he wanted?  And how had he known so much?

Charles fought hard to push those mutinous thoughts to the back of his mind.  He had more important matters to attend to.  Summoning up his usual confidence and bravado, he reached up and knocked on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for ending it there! Next chapter should be up soon, hopefully!


	4. Day One Continued - An Encounter at the Arcadia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was "Brandon" up to while "Charles" was reconnoitering? And what happens when the two come together again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, sorry this took so long - this chapter was like an itch I couldn't seem to scratch!
> 
> One note about future chapters: while chapter 5 will probably be up fairly soon (it's another dialogue-only bit), the chapters after that may take a little longer. Hopefully not as long as this one did, but I'm still leaving this story technically ON HIATUS. Sorry, guys. It will get finished, but as to when, who can tell?
> 
> Another thing to note: The rating as been upgraded! You know our boys; they just couldn't keep their hands off each other.

The moment he’d ‘accidentally’ bumped into Wesley on the plane Erik knew he was in trouble.

Long legs. Small frame. Blue eyes. Those freckles. _I wonder if he’s got freckles everywhere…_ Shaw knew he had a type, and had exploited it. Of course he had. Not for nothing had he earned his position.

The kiss had been surprising though. He had meant it as an enticement, a bit of a carrot, to get Wesley into his hotel. Into his bed. But instead it was almost he himself who’d been ensnared. God, but that man could kiss. His lips still tingled at the thought of it.

It hadn’t taken him long to get to the Arcadia after disappearing into the busy crowd. Stealth. One of his many talents, and one big reason he was still employed by Shaw.

Shaw. The very thought of his name made Erik’s hackles rise.

“Erik,” he had said, “Do this for me. It’s what your father would’ve wanted.”

 _Don’t talk about my father as if you knew him,_ Erik had thought, but outwardly he’d been agreeable. He always was. _Mustn’t reveal too much, Shaw mustn’t figure it out…_

So here he was. Holed up in a fancy room at one of the fanciest hotels in the city. And bored. Bored bored bored. He’d had a wank in the bathroom earlier to calm his nerves, and had read through the book he’d brought. Twice. There HAD to be an easier way to do this. _Couldn’t I have asked him where he was staying? Or something? God, the anticipation is killing me._

When the sun was directly overhead, and Erik’s patience had finally snapped, he made his way downstairs. There was a lovely cafe a block down from the hotel he’d been meaning to try. And he hoped he still had at least a couple hours to kill.

It was quaint. A bit kitschy. Everybody there besides him and the staff was a tourist. Shaw would’ve laughed if he’d known Erik had stopped there; it was most definitely  **not** his style. But the servers were polite. And if the smells wafting from the kitchen were any indication, the food was good too. So Erik sat down at a table, letting his mind mull over the day’s events with a clear head.

Wesley Gibson. New York City. Not from there originally, Erik could sense, and not just from his accent. _He’d said something about ‘west’ too. West of what? And that cover story. Please. He barely looked old enough to drink, let alone study genetics. An amateur mistake._

“Your food sir,” the server said a bit awkwardly and set the plate down. He smiled.

“Dankè liebe. Kann ich eine Quittung haben?” She visibly brightened.

“Ja! Moment bitte!“

It was easy to forget, he thought, that not every customer was a tourist. Especially when the hotel was so close.  She brought the small slip over with a smile. 

“Dankè.” Even after she made her way to the back he could sense her eyes on him. Oh he’d noticed the pink tinge in her cheeks when he’d smiled at her. And she was quite cute. But his thoughts were rather preoccupied with blue eyes and cherry-red lips. He made sure to leave a generous tip though.  
_Still an hour or two until sundown, so what to do next?_

He left the cafe still thinking, not noticing the eyes across the street. Watching him from behind stylish dark glasses. Delicate hands adjusting a mussed white sleeve.

————-

Erik was quite sweaty by the time he returned. For lack of anything better to do, he’d just gone for a walk around a few city blocks. But it was a bit too warm. And he had no way of predicting exactly when Wesley would arrive, if he was even going to. He’d had to shower and change quickly.

Just as he’d finished buttoning up a clean shirt there was a knock.

 _This is it, Erik. You know what to do. Let nothing slip._ He took a few deep breaths to prepare himself and opened the door.

And all thought promptly fled his mind.

Wesley in the doorway. Clothes rumpled. Hair a bit disheveled from time spent outdoors. A pink tongue darted out to wet those lips. Those lips he’d imagined around his cock a few hours before. It was all a little too much at once.

Before he could act, Wesley slammed into him, pulling his head down for an intense kiss. Propelling them towards the nearest solid object. In this case the wall. Someone kicked the door shut, Erik couldn’t tell which of them had; his arms were full of a squirmy Englishman.

“Do you know…how hard it was…to concentrate today?” Wesley panted out between kisses.

“I can imagine,” Erik said with a slight growl, snaking his hand down and grabbing the front of Wesley’s jeans. “It was much the same for me.”

Wesley groaned into his mouth. His hands found their way into his waistband, under his shirt. Is he going to-

**_RIIIIP~_ **

A few stubborn buttons had survived, but the others flew in every direction. Too bad. Erik had liked this shirt.

He felt teeth against his collarbone. There would be marks, he was sure of it. It was very ravenous and animal-like. Well two could play at that game.

He bodily lifted Wesley over his shoulder. The younger man squeaked, honest to god squeaked out “Brandon, what-” before he landed on the bed with an “oof!” Erik merely smirked, and shrugged out of his now useless shirt. Wesley got the hint and began working the button on his pants.

“Leave your underwear,” Erik said in a raspy voice. “I want to feel every inch of you when I slide them off your hips, down your legs, and onto the floor.”

The younger man shuddered visibly, but obeyed.

When he had at last shucked his boxers (and had heard Wesley’s quiet “holy **fuck**.”), Erik climbed onto the bed, atop the other man, capturing his lips again. He was hard. Almost painfully so. But not yet. He dipped a hand below the waistband of Wesley’s briefs and began languidly stroking the hardness he found there.

“Please, Brandon. Please.” Wesley was moaning, arching his back. Erik almost thought he could hear the tendons popping. He moved his head to the side, nibbling on a tender ear, and tugged the last piece of cloth between them off. His hand ran down a smooth leg, feeling every straining muscle. Every…scar? They were small, easily hidden, but their presence intrigued him. He made a mental note to ask about them later. But for now…

Wesley bracketed Erik’s hips with his knees and flipped them over. He was deceptively strong, Erik noted. That somehow turned him on even more. The other man moved down his body before reaching his cock. He wrapped a hand around it, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from his partner.

“You know what else I imagined doing?” He said with a wicked grin. Before Erik could even reply, he took him in his mouth. Swallowed him down.

“Fuck!” Erik cried out and grabbed the headboard. He was shocked it didn’t splinter in his hand. No fantasy could’ve prepared him for this. Those impossibly red lips moved on his cock, up and down, and he could feel every sound, every vibration, every moan. It was bliss. It was heaven. But it was not how he wanted this evening to end. He tugged on Wesley’s hair, bringing him back up to eye level.

“Wha-” the younger man started.

“Turn over.”

Those blue eyes got even darker, almost black, and he did so quickly. His arms were shaking.

Erik grabbed a few necessary items from the bedside drawer; Azazel always teased him about being over-prepared - to that end he’d packed enough lube and condoms for an entire football team.

“Brandooooon…”

And he had a feeling he might need every one of them.

He ran a hand up a pale flank, feeling the muscles bunching and pulled taut just below the surface. Until he reached his destination, gently touching. A question. A silent request.

“Oh god yes,” Wesley groaned.

Erik nipped lightly at an exposed buttock before parting them and delving inside. The man beneath him let out a keening cry, almost a wail, and bucked up. Hard. But Erik’s grip on his thighs held firm. While he warmed a generous amount of lube with his free hand, Erik did what he’d imagined himself doing the minute he set eyes on the other man’s picture. He delved into his tight heat, tasting that always heady tang of sweat and musk. Reveling in the contractions around his tongue, against his lips. That smell, that flavor, so uniquely Wesley, went straight through him. It was impossible, but he almost felt himself get even harder. He could’ve probably gone through a brick wall dick-first at this point.

Wesley was sobbing. Babbling. “Please, I can’t-”

“You can,” Erik rasped, and slid a slicked-up finger inside him. His answer was a long, satisfied groan.

“Been waiting for this, have you? Waiting to feel me inside you? Touching you?” He slowly pumped his finger in and out, in and out, before adding a second. “Did you touch yourself while you were waiting for me?”

“N-no,” Wesley managed to breathe out. He was still able to speak - that would not do.

“Good boy.“ Erik reached in front of him and grabbed the hardness he found there. It had softened a bit, but Erik wasn’t concerned. He began to stroke in time with the little movements his fingers were making, a combined assault of stimulation, with the express intent of pushing his lover over the edge and back. To that end, he crooked his fingers slightly inside the other man. Searching for that ever elusive bundle of nerves.

“Brandon! Holy fuck!”

 _Jackpot_ , he thought. The hand jerking Wesley off moved faster, while a third finger slipped inside him.

“I’m-” a low moan, “I think I’m-” the younger man cried out and bucked. “Dammit, I’m ready!”

“Are you? I don’t know.“ Erik drawled. “I’m quite comfortable back here.” He ran his thumb over a weeping cockslit.

Wesley turned his head, fixing him with an almost murderous look.  “Just fuck me, you asshole! If I wanted a tease, I could’ve visited a whorehouse!”

“Glad to know you have standards, liebling.” But he obediently withdrew his fingers. He grabbed the little foil packet nearby and tore it open with his teeth.

“Ordinarily I’d leave this task to you, but-” Wesley’s response was a low groan. “I thought as much,” Erik continued. In a few short movements he rolled the condom on and generously prepared himself.

“Ready?” he asked, expecting to get that look again. But instead, Wesley just nodded.

Thus encouraged, Erik lined himself up. And began pushing inside.

Wesley groaned, thrusting back against him. He shifted his hips. Reduced the friction ever so slightly. “Don’t stop,” he choked out when Erik slowed, “not yet. Not until you’re all the way in.”

“Trust me, it’s better this way,” Erik said softly. He kissed and licked a spot between sweat-damped shoulder blades. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But I do.” Before Erik could react, the other man bucked back hard, fully sheathing him.

“Fucking hell!” he yelled, voice almost comically high.

It was better than he’d imagined, being inside Wesley. Muscles clenched and moved around him, seemed to want to pull him even closer, deeper. He could feel every subtle shift they made even thought the plastic barrier separating them. For that, he was grateful in a way. If he’d gone bareback, this encounter probably would’ve already been over.

Wesley bucked against him again. A demand to stop thinking and start moving. One that Erik was happy to oblige. Using one hand to brace himself, he pulled nearly all the way out, and thrust back in. He set a slow rhythm, wanting to draw this out for a little while longer.

“Amazing. You feel amazing,” he whispered, running his free hand up his partner’s side, feeling him shaking.

“Come on come on,” Wesley almost growled, “Harder! Don’t give me that sentimental bullshit, goddammit!“

“Such language,” Erik chided, but moved faster, “you speak to your mother with that mouth?”

“N-no,” he was getting flustered again. _Good. If I shift my knees a little…_ “Are you seriously bringing up my mother while we’re- Fuck!”

The smaller man clamped down around him like a vice. _Jackpot._ “Why don’t we save this conversation for later, when I’m done making you scream?“

After that, there were no words. No real ones anyway. Erik was done being gentle. He set a brutally punishing pace, slamming down into the other man. Wesley met him thrust for thrust, practically crying out with each drag of Erik’s cock over his most sensitive spot. One hand had snaked down to jerk himself off at a furious pace. At this rate, neither of them would last much longer.

Erik tried. Tried to keep going. Wanted to bring Wesley to the edge first. But he was nearly there. At the precipice. He was-

“I’m close, baby, I’m close,” he moaned. “I don’t think I can-”

“Come then,” Wesley managed between gasps. “I want to feel it.” He clenched himself down as hard as he could.

Erik’s world went white. He felt weightless, almost as if he’d taken a dive from a high cliff, into the nothingness of space. He felt nothing. Everything. Both at once. Not at all. He knew nothing except pure, white-hot pleasure.

With a long, drawn out groan of ecstasy, he collapsed against Wesley. Slowly drawn back to earth by the pounding blood in his ears. The younger man was still jerking himself as fast and as hard as he could. Though his hands were still a little bliss-clumsy, Erik wrapped one around the other man’s and pulled with him. Once, twice, three times and he was coming all over their joined fingers.

They laid there for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath, as Erik softened and eventually slipped out of his pliant lover. He turned away, somewhat reluctantly, to dispose of the condom.

“That was-” Wesley began when he turned back, “it was…I mean, I-”

“It was something, wasn’t it?” Erik supplied.

“Yeah, definitely something.” Wesley’s brow furrowed, and he sat upright. “I should go.”

“You should stay.” Erik wrapped one long leg around his partner’s smaller waist. Threw an arm around him in a half-hug. Clinging like a limpet. “Staaaay,” he whined. “Breakfast is on me.”

“Brandon-”

“…please?” Erik surprised himself. His tone was unexpectedly heartfelt. Because, job or not, he really DIDN’T want Wesley to go. For some strange reason he couldn’t quite fathom.

Wesley, for his part, was silent for a moment. “I’ll stay,” he finally said, “for now. But I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“We’ll see about that,” Erik slurred, eyelids already drooping. He shifted them both until he was spooned behind the smaller man, and wrapped his arms around him tightly. “You can try to wriggle free, but I’m a light sleeper, liebling,” he murmured. Wesley shivered as he mouthed at the hair on the base of the shorter man’s neck. “Sleep well, Mr. Gibson.”

Erik’s eyes drifted shut, but his new bedmate remained awake for some time after.

————

Several hours later, Erik awoke feeling quite sticky. He reached over, but despite what he’d said, wasn’t surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. _Wesley WAS a professional after all_ , he mused. The thought of the other man being able to sneak himself from under Erik’s arms and out the door tickled Erik to no end. If he’d thought about what he was feeling - actually thought about it - he would’ve called Shaw right then and there to resign from the job. But he didn’t think. He barely even noticed the slow warmth spreading outwardly from his chest. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have recognized it for what it truly was.

 _That was definitely a night to remember,_ Erik thought. _But I’ve got a job to do, too._ And there were people expecting him soon.

So he got up, got showered and dressed, and made his way down to Shaw’s offices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations~~
> 
> Dankè liebe. Kann ich eine Quittung haben? - Thank you dear. Can I have a receipt?
> 
> Ja! Moment bitte! - Yes! One moment please!


	5. Interlude #2 - Erik and Shaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another brief flashback; Erik receives a new and important job from his employer, the infamous Sebastian Shaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's that second dialogue-only flashback chapter I promised you. The plot, what there may be of it, thickens a little.
> 
> Please note: it may be a while until the next chapter. I've had several tiny idea seeds for it, but no good ones yet. Rest assured though: it's never far from my mind.

"Erik! Do come in."

"You asked for me?"

"I did indeed. Sit down, son."

"...I'll stand. What do you want."

"There's a rumor going through the grapevine that there's some sort of cabal against me. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

"...of course not."

"You sure? I thought I heard you hesitate for a moment."

"I'm sure."

"Excellent! Then I have a new task for you."

".......who's this...?"

"They've sent him after me. Some sort of...hitman, I've been told."

"Told? By whom?"

"Sources. **Powerful** sources. Remnants from my father."

"And what do you expect me to do with him?"

"What do you think? Wine him, dine him, fuck him if you have to. And then..."

"Eliminate him?"

"You catch on quick, little Erik."

"Don't call me that. And why me? Wouldn't Emma be better suited for this sort of thing?"

"Emma has a ...different job to do for me. Besides, I thought he looked like your type. Am I wrong?"

"..."

"Thought so. There are two tickets inside that file - train and plane. I want you to 'bump into him,' like it's all perfectly innocent happenstance. You're not the best actor, Erik, but I'm sure you can handle something as simple as that."

"And if I refuse?"

"Refuse? Erik, you're not in a position to refuse **anything**."

"..."

"But I'll indulge you in this pitiful bout of rebellion. I bet you'd like to do it yourself, wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You'd like to take over for this cute young thing they're sending up here. Put a bullet right in my heart; to kill me. Wouldn't you?"

"..."

"I thought as much. You haven't got the balls."

"...Shaw, I swear-"

"Spare me the sweet talk and do it. Come now, it's what your father would have wanted!"

"...very well. But after this..."

"After this...what?"

"After this I'm leaving."

"Leaving? But to where, little Erik?"

"Doesn't matter. Anywhere but here. And I told you not to call me that."

"Still so touchy. I thought you would've gotten over that after all these years."

"..."

"Oh, have it your way. After this little task is completed, I'll release you from my service. And then you can go to whatever horrid little hamlet you please."

"If that's all it'll take, you can consider the job done."

 

"............Emma. He's gone. Do come in."

"Sir?"

"I want you to keep those lovely eyes of yours on our dear little Erik. Make sure he's keeping to his work."

"Understood."

"If he steps out of line..."

"Oh, I think I know, sir. I almost hope he does. It's been so long since I've been able to...indulge myself."

"And I do so miss watching you indulge, my queen."

"You can rest easy - I won't let you down."


End file.
